


A New Beginning

by Feynite, SeleneLavellan



Series: Dirthalene [8]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ancient Elves (Dragon Age), Domestic Fluff, F/M, Newly Formed AU, Political Intrigue, Recovery, Romance, Sometimes you just gotta be a blob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 11:04:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16871773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLavellan/pseuds/SeleneLavellan
Summary: Selene is not entirely sure what it is, when she finds it.





	1. Chapter 1

Selene is not entirely sure what it is, when she finds it.

A dark, swirling mass of spiritual energy. Thick tendrils of distress are flailing off of it, several gaping maws look as though they are screaming, silent and stretched far enough to tear at something bearing a passing resemblance to flesh. Ink black feathers are melting away from its body, a constant molt as it writhes and decays the blackberry bush that must have been crushed beneath it.

Blackberries she had been hoping to use for lunch, but food is barely a thought for her now, staring at what is likely the strangest spirit she has ever laid eyes on.

For a moment, she thinks it most certainly crushed every piece of the bush when it tore through the dreaming, as liquid pools beneath it. But it does not take her long to realize that what she is seeing is not juice at all; it appears as though the spirit is  _bleeding_.

That, at least, she might be able to help with.

 

Slowly, her aura pulled as tightly to her as she can as she approaches, Selene holds out her hand towards the creature. Three sets of eyes stare back at her; one red rimmed and weeping, one accusatory and hateful, and one wary as it follows each of her steps.

 

“It’s alright,” She says softly. “I’m a healer. I only want to help you. Will you let me help you?”

The creature is silent for a moment, six eyes staring at her hand as she waits, only a few steps away from it. And then it lets out an ear splitting ’ _Caw!_ ’, as six wings sprout from its back; dark and large enough to block out the sun still breaking through the trees around them.

It does not move any closer, still.

 

“My name is Selene,” She says stepping closer still as the wings rustle overhead and she repeats herself “Will you let me help you?”

A low rumbling noise comes from the bundle of spiritual energy, one of its sets of eyes narrowing.

 

She keeps her hand outstretched, palm facing the creature as she takes her final step; only a foot of space remaining between them.

 

“I would like to help you,” She tells it again. “My home is not far from here; I can help you more efficiently there, if you can move.”

The creature lets out another caw, the leaves in the trees around them rustling with the force of it.

 

Selene waits, her hand still outstretched.

 

Slowly, the spirit seems to rise. Feathers on its back beginning to fall away, as a piece of its mass shifts into a more orb-like shape and rests against the palm of her hand.

“Thank you,” Selene says as it nudges gently against her. “Follow me then.”

 

The spirit is slow, trudging through the forest as pieces of itself get caught and wrapped around roots and branches. Easily distracted by local wildlife; Selene has to go and retrieve them when a fennec catches its eye, pulling them away and off of her trail.

It tires easily, even at its current pace. Selene is beginning to worry that it may have been a trap; the sun is setting, and it is unsafe to be out once it has. Not just for wyverns and spirits being pulled too closely by dreamers, but local guards who stray too often from their routes. Looking for ale and company and unlocked doors.

 

The spirit seems to finally give out, just at the break of the clearing. Not willing to abandon it so close to their destination, she gives it a quick apology as she reaches beneath and around it, gathering as much of it as she can in her arms and carrying it the last stretch back into her home.

 

She settles the spirit onto her bed, and finally relaxes as her lock goes off with a reassuring click; wards rejuvenated and in place as the sun finally disappears behind the stretch of the forest.

 

A quick glance down as she rolls up her sleeves reveals her arms have been stained; unfamiliar runes scrawled and stained onto the surface of her skin. No magic seems to be placed in them; just symbols, memories. Like the scrawling of a child.

Selene frowns as she looks back at the spirit, wondering. How young is this spirit? How old? What sort could it be?

And why would a spirit  _bleed_?

 

But it is no use questioning it. As she sits on her stool and begins sealing up the wounds, plucking branches and thorns from its form, any questions she asks are answered with nothing but a caw, or an awkward shifting of its features.

She makes it tea, unsure if it is able to drink it or not, but the properties of this one are potent enough that even the smell of it is often found calming by her patients.

As she hands the cup over, tendrils wrap around the ceramic as they seem to try to absorb and wrap itself around the heat coming out of the cup,  Selene feels one of her wards go off.

Someone is near, then.

 

“Stay here,” She tells the spirit as she stands, a reassuring hand on its head. “Please do not make any noise.”

The spirits head tilts questioningly, but it does as she asks, nearly flattening itself onto her bed with the cup of tea firmly over their middle protectively. She will have to make a larger pot for them later, she decides.

 

There is a knock on her door as she approaches it; loud and heavy and unquestioningly that of an armored guard.

She swings it open, putting on one of her more hospitable smiles.

 

“Hello Captain Din'Durgen,” She greets with a polite nod of her head. “What brings you to my hut this evening?”

“Reports of a disturbance in the area,” The Captain says with a respectable nod back to Selene. “Several spirits have reported damage to the dreamin’, and disturbin’ energies radiatin’ from the forest nearby. Have you heard or seen anythin’ yourself?”

 

“I’m afraid not,” Selene lies without hesitation. “Do you know what sort of thing you might be searching for?”

“Could be anythin’,” The captain replies, hand rubbing at the back of her helmet as though she is already tired of the search. “Nameless, escaped slaves, corrupted spirit. The Lady Mythal didn’ give any specifics. Jus’ told us to spread out an’ search.”

 

Selenes eyebrows raise in surprise. “The Lady Mythal sent a search party this far out? We’re nowhere near her territories, or even Arlathan. What makes her think it’d be out here?”

“She don’, I don’ think,” The captain admits with a long suffering sigh. “We’re all out on patrol, searchin’ every territory for the damn thing. S'posed to capture it if we can, but excessive force is approved too, so make sure you stay safe tonigh’, alrigh?”

 

Selene nods, focusing all her energies on keeping her aura calm and only letting out the appropriate amount of worry for someone who’s been told there’s a dangerous something somewhere. “I’ll do just that. Thank you so much for checking in Captain.”

 

“Not a problem dear, no’ a problem.” She assures her with a tip of her helmet before she takes her leave.

Selene locks the door as soon as she can, reaffirming her wards before she goes back to her stool.

She looks over the spirit, settled down considerably now and peering curiously at the now empty cup. It blinks up at her, one eyelid at a time in curiosity.

Selene smiles at it as she takes the cup to pour some more tea.

“Don’t worry,” She says. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe with me.”


	2. Chapter 2

It takes a surprising amount of work to get the teacup away from the spirit.

 

After a long string of pulling the cup away from one tendril only to find three more clinging tightly to it, Selene lets out a long sigh.

“If I get you a blanket,” she bargains “Will you let me have the cup long enough that I can get you  _more_  tea?”

 

The spirit seems to contemplate her offer, eyes rolling throughout their form like balls being juggled before finally settling on a single space which bobs up and down in what Selene assumes is a nod. She tugs on the cup once more, and the tendrils slowly fall away, disappearing back into the amorphous form still resting in her bed.

 

She digs a spare blanket out from beneath the cot, flipping it out to release any dust that may have settled on it. She coughs as the dust motes float through the air, then stares back at the spirit.

…She still hasn’t quite figured out where the  _head_  is.

“Uh, you can just…adjust as needed,” She says before unceremoniously draping it over the whole of its form (substantially smaller now that it is indoors, she’s noted gratefully), leaving it a large blob beneath the fabric.

 

She moves towards her kitchen, listening to the rustling as it shifts around beneath the blanket behind her while she pours another cup of tea, heating it quickly in her hands within the cup.

 

When she turns around, she nearly chokes holding back a laugh.

The spirit has flattened itself out to match the shape of the blanket, corners tucked in around it as the tassels along the edges shake with the vibrations of its satisfied purr.

 

“Would you still like your tea then,” Selene teases as she approaches. “Or would you rather-”

Before she can finish her sentence, a tendril has wrapped its way along her arm and through the teacups handle, carefully pulling it back into the mass beneath the blanket.

 

“Right,” she sighs. “Well, if it’s all the same to you then, I think I’ll get some rest. Wake me up if you need anything, I’ll just be…” She blinks, looking around at her small home and realizing she definitely meant to clean it yesterday.

And the day before that.

And also probably the day before that.

The only clean spot left in the house in fact, is the area where her bed and stool are currently situated.

 

“Well, I’ll just be right next to you on the floor,” She finishes lamely, pulling another dust covered blanket out from beneath the bed along with one of her pillows from on top of the mattress. She carefully removes her foot and leg wraps, along with her belt and tunic, tossing the pile of clothes on top of her stool. Tenderly, she rubs at the red marks left along her legs from the wraps before finally settling down in her shift on the floor.

 

Already exhausted from the physical and magical exertions with the spirit, it doesn’t take long at all for Selene to fall into a deep sleep. The dreaming feels different. The usual appearance of trees and flowers is gone, as are all of its usual landmarks. Turmoil hangs heavy over the area, bright bursts of light breaking through an otherwise endless looking darkness. Reaching out, Selene tries to find something to settle on, to find her footing. Something solid to ground herself, trying to think of pillars and dirt and her wooden floors as spirits and thoughts race through her, far too quickly to read as she struggles to hold her ground. Something strikes at her back, soft and cold with a lingering sting that follows her back into the waking.

 

The waking, where she has somehow managed to end up back on her mattress, wrapped in a glistening, shifting spirit, trying to cocoon itself with her and both blankets.

Honestly, she’s not sure if it was actually trying to let her use her bed or just steal her blanket, but she is too tired to care much either way.

Instead she nudges the spirit with her shoulder and a tired grunt. The spirit shifts slightly, blankets being pulled tighter to its center.

 

Selene lets out a loud sigh and sits up.

“Are you still cold…?” She asks quietly.

The spirit doesn’t respond, but its eyes look back at her pleadingly as a few wisps of itself seem to pat the space she had just vacated.

So it  _was_  stealing her body heat too, then.

 

Well. Desperate times call for desperate measures, she supposes.

 

“Can you keep a secret?” Selene asks the spirit. Not that it seems particularly fond of verbal communication so far, but it’s often better to ask first she’s found.

 

One of its sets of eyes open slightly wider as it bobs up and down once more in a manner she is now confident is almost definitely a nod.

 

She stands up from the bed and the spirit quickly moves into the space she had been occupying, all eyes still on her as she moves to her closet. Normally, she’d only use this in the winter for emergencies, but…

“I got this as a gift,” She explains, knocking out the fake panel in the back of her closet. She reaches around, finally feeling the soft fabric between her fingers and pulling it out with a victorious  _ha!_

 

“One of the council members from the city passed through here a few centuries ago. Had an awful run in with a wyvern, and I patched them up. They were so grateful I helped them without spreading news they had been injured back to the main city, they sent it as a thank you,” Selene continues, taking her space back in the bed as she carefully smooths the red and orange fabric over the two of them, pouring in just enough magic to activate the heating rune inside it. “Not sure if they knew I couldn’t commission something like this myself anymore or not. But they spent a lot of their time here complaining about the insulation in my home, and it was still very kind of them to send it out to me.”

 

The spirit shifts against the blanket, curious as the material continues to rise in temperature. Once evened out, the spirit lets out a contended purr, limbs reaching to place the two un-enchanted blankets over top of its apparent new favorite item in her home. It finally settles between Selenes stomach and the sheet, coiling into itself until it is small enough to be comfortable, seemingly content to spend the whole night right there between her body and the heating rune.

 

Selene just shakes her head, already overfond of the spirit, and worries briefly that if she lights the fireplace in the morning the spirit may launch itself directly into the flames.

 

“Alright,” She concedes, hand gently stroking the side of the spirit as it leans happily into her touch. “Enjoy your heat sandwich. Wake me if you need anything, and try to get some rest yourself.”

The creature on her stomach vibrates briefly in acknowledgment, all of its eyes closing at once as its breathing slows to match her own.

 

 

Selene falls back into the dreaming before long. Still swirling with unfamiliar energies, but more stable now. The areas above her head remain above her, and the surface beneath her feet feels solid. The winds more breeze-like than violent, and altogether less tumultuous than it had been only a small time earlier.

And she is not alone.

 

Nearby is something glittering, gleaming, black and shining. She steps towards it, curious as ever. As she approaches, it shifts. Tendrils shifting to limbs. Two legs, two arms, a torso. Several wings protruding sharply from its back, the face still blurry and difficult to decipher. Slowly, as if trying to remember how to walk, it creeps closer to her. One arm lifts, a hand forming at the wrist with first eight, then six, then five fingers as it stops just in front of Selenes face. Its head tilts, then bobs up and down as the hand settles over top of her head, emitting a rush of heat.

“Oh,” Selene breathes in realization. “It’s you.”

 

The head bobs again, six eyes blinking open on the head, swirling around its features as though unsure of where they should settle.

“Are you an elf, then?” she asks.

 

Its hand recedes, held out curiously in front of its own face as several eyes seem to scrunch in confusion.

Two long, pointed ears grow out of the sides of its head, and Selene takes a small step closer.

  
“Have you forgotten something?” She asks.

 

It hesitates, and nods once more.

 

“Ok,” She says more to herself than to the elf like spirit in front of her. “Ok. Would you like me to help you?”

 

Its head moves, shifting to tilt to the other side in a way that is mildly unsettling to watch.

Its wings beat several times behind it, the scenery around them shifting as the trees begin to grow, rising higher and higher towards the dreamings sky.

 

And then all at once, she is awake. The sun is streaming through the crack in her shutters, and the spirit on her chest is staring up at her, face peeking out from beneath the warmth of the blanket.

 

Selene drags one hand down her face, wondering if it really was this spirit she saw in the dreaming or not. Surely it couldn’t be in both the waking and the dreaming at once.   
Unless it really  _is_  an elf, she supposes.

 

“Alright,” She finally says, gently scratching beneath what seems to be its chin. “I’m not sure I fully understand what’s happening, but to be honest I don’t think you do either. You can stay here until you remember though, if you want. Not many people pass through here unless they’re injured on their trade route or a guard making patrols, so you should be safe. You may need to hide in the space behind my closet when others are here though. I doubt Lady Mythal has anything pleasant in mind if she’s authorized excessive force to catch you.”

 

The spirit tugs the enchanted blanket closer to itself as it peers up at her expectantly.

 

“Yes,” She assures it “You can take the blanket back there with you.”

 

The spirit lets out a happy purr, eyes closing contently as it melts over-top of her.

  
Selene lets out a sigh, pinned beneath the weight of it and the three other blankets.   
Well. She could probably stand to spend a little longer in bed today.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes another month for the spirit to spend less than two thirds of its day asleep.

 

Which Selene doesn’t mind so much, really, because it means she has plenty of time to do her usual work undisturbed. Her potions get brewed, her salves get made, her garden gets tended. 

The tricky part is always when she gets a patient.

Often times, the spirit falls into a deep enough sleep that she has to carry it into the hidden space behind her closets false wall. Which would not be such an issue, except that it has become a very  _cuddly_ spirit, and she always ends up having to disentangle herself from its various tendrils before swaddling it inside of her heated blanket and settling the plank of wood back in place. Only then can she safely open her door, and Selene is worried it is making her suspicious to her more familiar patients.

 

“You took an awfull’ long time to open your door,” grumbles Captain Din'Durgen as she enters, tucking her helmet safely beneath her arm.

“Sorry,” Selene apologizes with a bow. “I’ve been getting more distracted with my work lately. Haven’t been keeping as neat a house as I should, and I didn’t want you seeing what a mess it was.”

The captain frowns, pale brown eyes scanning over the contents of Selenes home; a pile of unwashed teacups in the sink, mounds of herbs drying on her table, books piled high at the foot of her bed beside a pile of blankets and laundry that need to be washed, and a broken pot still smashed beside her fireplace from when the spirit had woken from a violent dream.

 

“This is clean to ya’…?” The captain mumbles beneath her breath.

“So!” Selene proclaims before the captain can start digging through her piles and wondering why she has books made for children in her ‘recent reading’ pile. “What brings you by today? Are you feeling unwell?”

 

Din'Durgen straightens at the reminder of her duties, clearing her throat while turning back to face Selene. “Ah, yea’. I mean, I feel fine. I’m jus’ here on official businesses today. Our Lady Sylaise is throwin’ a festival for her 500th weddin’ anniversary. Wha’ with her brothers people less willin’ to travel outta their own territory, she’s lookin’ for people to make up the difference. Though’ maybe…maybe you migh’ be interested in goin’.”

 

“Oh,” Selene says, relaxing a bit “No, I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I always do poorly in situations that…public. Besides, my shape shifting skills are below par; I’d be a poor addition to her contingent.”

“Well I mean-” The captain clears her throat again, eyes darting nervously up to the ceiling. “I was thinkin’ that ya’ maybe wouldn’ go with the contingents. Maybe you would go with someone else. Someone who uh-Who thinks ya’ don’ need the shapeshiftin’ ta look good in the fashions.”

Selene blinks, watching Din'Durgen struggle to keep her embarrassment from leaking too far out of herself.

“Someone like a Cap'ain, maybe…?” Din'Durgen finally manages, holding more tightly to the helmet in her arm than she means to.

 

Oh.

 _OH!_ Selene realizes.

 

“That’s…” Selene shifts awkwardly on her feet. “A very… _generous_  offer. But I think I’ll have to decline, if that’s alright.”

“If you’re worried abou’ bein’ allowed back into the city, I’ve already gotten a permit. So long as you stay with your designated escort-”

“ _'Designated escort_ ’?” Selene interrupts, eyes narrowing. “I’m not a danger to the city,  _or_ a child.”

 

“It’s not-I mean  _you_  remember wha’ happened. Your name is still on the short list for sacrifices, y'know tha’. They won’ let you just wander freely aroun’ the city after tha’.”

“I know what happened,” Selene says coldly. “And I’m not interested in returning to the city. Thank you for the offer captain, but I have to decline.”

 

Din'Durgen lets out a sigh. “Selene, I’m not tryin’ to be cruel. One good nigh’, on the arm of a city captain? Things migh’ finally get looked past. You coul’ finally start to rise up again, get a good home, maybe even petition for a  _child_  one day-”

“I  _like_  my home,” Selene says. “And I’m not interested in 'rising up’.”

“I like  _you_ , Selene. If you worked at it, we could form a name as a _team_. And I know, it’s intimidatin’ to get asked like this by someone in a higher ranking class than you'self, bu’ I’ll be kind! I won’ make you do nothin’ you’re not comfortable with, and I can get you nice things! You could still work here if you wan’ of course, bu’ you’d have a nice home ta go back ta at the end o’ the day.”

 

“I’ve already given you my answer, Captain,” Selene insists as she opens up her front door. “Unless you’re planning to push the 'rights’ our difference in rank allows you, I have other matters that need my attention.”

 

Captain Din'Durgen swallows, looking down at the floor in shame as she places her helmet back on.

“Thanks for ya’ time,” She says politely as she steps through the doorway “My apologies if I offended ya’.”

Selene frowns, feeling a tiny tug of guilt in her chest at her own reactions. “I could use a few days of space then, if you mean that.”

The captain nods, giving a deep bow before finally disappearing back onto her route.

 

Selene swings the door shut with a resounding click. She lets out a deep sigh of frustration, then hears an uncomfortable rustling coming from what seems to be her closet.

 

Moving quickly, she takes out the false back, helping the spirit to untangle itself from the blanket as it climbs up her arms and onto her shoulders.

Several sets of eyes look up at her, worry and concern radiating off of it.

  
“Did you have a bad dream again?” Selene asks as she replaces the wood once more.

The spirit shakes its semblance of a head from side to side in denial.

“Were you worried when the captain came in again?”

The spirit vibrates slightly, an unsure noise coming out of it as it tightens around her, watching as she starts assembling a salad for lunch in the kitchen.

 

“Don’t worry,” Selene assures them “She’s harmless. Unless you’re a child of the stone of course, but that’s…You’re not a stone child are you?”

The spirit shakes its head once again.

 

“Then so long as you stay hidden, she won’t hurt you. I wouldn’t let her hurt you anyways. I mean, sure, she’s a way higher class than I am, with her fancy armor and her house with bedrooms and things and if we were in the city this would be much, much trickier and if I confronted her physically I could be killed easily. But out here,” Selene indicates out the window with her head, towards the forest. “There’s more room to breathe. I could still overstep I suppose, but we’re at least a half day from the nearest eluvian. Worst case, we could make a run for it through the forest. There are some older paths that’ve been overgrown from the division of territories. I found them when I first started exploring out here; we could probably make it all the way to the ocean in a week, avoiding the crossroads and the dreaming…”

She trails off, mind wandering to thoughts of flight and freedom and what might be waiting on the other side of all that water.

 

The spirit nudges her hand, still holding a fist full of blueberries and snaps Selenes attention back to the present.

Selene shakes the thoughts out of her head, dropping the berries into the bowl and tossing them in the salad alongside the other ingredients. She mumbles a quick apology, handing a smaller bowl for the spirit to hold, and a second for herself. The spirit slides off of her shoulders, carefully moving the herbs from her table over to the windowsill to finish their drying as she places the salad down on the table, and they each take a seat across from each other. Selene fills each of their bowls, eating her own slowly as she watches the spirit form a large beak-like structure, pecking and eating at their own helping quickly.

 

“You need a name,” She decides as they bat a blueberry around their bowl, struggling to get it into their mouth.

The spirit looks up at her curiously.

“Do you have a name already?” She checks.

 

A wave of unease washes through the room, as the spirit begins to shrink and shake its head vigorously.

 

“Would you mind if I gave you one then?”

The spirit nods slowly, waiting with concerned eyes for her to decide.

 

 _Halani_  maybe? No, that’s too on-the nose.  _Falon_ , too, is too vague.

 

“How about  _Ethvhenas_?” she offers.

 

The spirit shifts around in its seat, before letting out a happy sounding chirp in acceptance.

“Ethvhenas it is then,” Selene agrees, thankful to have an actual name to call them. “Would you like seconds?”

 

Ethvhenas doesn’t answer, instead disappearing from their stool only to reappear in Selenes lap, curled up and yawning and swatting curiously at an empty bottle hanging from her belt. She pulls a basket of yarn out from beneath a nearby cupboard with her foot, snatching up a ball of rainbow colored string. She shakes it briefly in front of their face, and all eyes snap towards it with rapt attention.

Selene tosses it towards the mattress, watching with amusement as Ethvhenas jumps after it. They swat at it, then immediately jump back as their wings outstretch in a threatening manner when it changes color at their touch. After a moments hesitation, they move towards the yarn again, touching it and letting out another pleased chirp when it shifts in color once more.

 

Selene smiles at them, pleased that they’ve found some manner of exercise that doesn’t overexert them too badly. The last time she had tried to get them to exercise in the yard, they had become overly interested in the roots of her freesias, and she had spent an hour panicking when they disappeared beneath the soil before finally discovering them passed out on top of her chamomile, covered in dirt and bruises and scrapes.

This is a much simpler solution for everyone involved, really.

 

Still, she notices them glancing back at her every few minutes, as though assuring themselves she hasn’t left them somehow. Still unsure how Ethvhenas had become so injured in the first place, Selenes stomach twists at the possible implications. Were they betrayed by someone? Another spirit maybe? Laying a trap for them for….something?

 

Whatever it was, Ethvhenas seems to be recovering well. It’s difficult to gauge accurately, because Selene is unsure what their recovered state actually  _is,_  but they seem happier, certainly. They have more energy when they are awake, and have even been trying to help her clean her home. Their nightmares have lessened, and even if she lost her favorite pot in the process, it hasn’t actually struck out at her in any way, and it’s level of affection for her seems to have only grown.

Which…could be an issue down the line.

She should probably come up with a long term plan past 'hide injured spirit for undetermined amount of time’.

 

Ethvhenas dashes past her, yarn rapidly changing in color as it bats it from tendril to tendril, a large length of it wrapped around its center mass. They seem unbothered by it, and Selene supposes that its not as though you can choke when you don’t have a windpipe, so she leaves them be.

Time to start cleaning, she decides.


	4. Chapter 4

The wards go off after the sun has already set.

Selene and Ethvhenas are already situated in her bed, the spirit curled up on top of her while Selene reads one of her favorite books aloud. She pauses mid-sentence, carefully closing the cover and hushing Ethvhenas further beneath the blankets while pulling her robe tightly around her. There is a knock on the door a moment later, heavy and familiar.

 

“Hello Captain,” Selene greets with a polite nod, looking dubiously at the group of soldiers behind her visitor. “What brings you here so late?”

“The Lady Sylaise has need for ya’, in Bellana'ravel,” She reports.

 

Selene blinks, pulling her robe tighter to herself. “I’m not permitted in the capital,” Selene reminds the other woman gently. “What need could she have of me?”

Unease rolls off of Captain Din'Durgen as she lifts the visor of her helmet to reveal red rimmed eyes, voice a soft whisper. “There was nothin’ I could do to change the councils mind Selene. I’m so sorry”

 

 _Oh_. Selene realizes with a sharp chill down her spine.

 

“I…” She stammers. “There’s no one else to watch this area. If someone gets injured-”

“They’re buildin’ a new clinic. And an Eluvian to reach it. The work in the crossroads is almos’ done already.”

“So I’m superfluous…” Selene swallows, trying hard not to look behind her. To find Ethvhenas and warn them, tell them to run before someone else discovers them.

 

“You need to come with us,” Captain Din'Durgen announces, before adding in a quieter tone “ _please_.”

 

Selene nods, slowly. She knew this day was coming. Has known for nearly a century she was on the short list for sacrifice duty. Still, there’s really no easy way she can find to process that in a very short amount of time, she will be dead.

 

“Can I have a moment to get my things in order?” She asks.

Captain Din'Durgen shakes her head “We’ve got to head back. The Lady Sylaise has a erm…a deadline, to make.”

“But I-”

“Someone will come along to straighten and collect your things,” Interrupts one of the other soldiers as they grab at Selenes elbow. “You won’t need it anymore anyways.”

 

Before Selene can light the elf on fire, the captain has grabbed their arm and twisted it up and over their shoulder. There’s a distinctive ‘pop’ sound Selene recognizes as their bone is pulled effortlessly out of its socket.

“We do  _not_  touch civilians withou’ permission, Enaste. You will not be given another warnin’.”

“Yes, captain.” Enaste grits out, taking a step back and away from the doorway.

 

Captain Din'Durgen watches as Enaste returns to their place in the ranks, then turns back to Selene with an outstretched hand. “I’d rather no’ have to force this, if it’s all the same to you.”

 

Selene scrunches her face, reminded again of how Captain Din'Durgen always manages to find just the right way to ruin a good moment, insisting that the last time Selene will see her home should be a simple, peaceful affair. As if she isn’t dragging her off to be killed. 'Go peacefully’, 'do your part for the empire’, 'don’t make a fuss’.

She had hoped being exiled might exempt her from such societal rules.   
Selene’s luck has never been very good though, she supposes.

 

A very large part of her thinks she  _should_  fight. Should punch and kick and scream and make a run for the ocean and the islands as best she can. Should make them  _earn_  her head, if they are so determined to take it. The captain might even give her a running start, given their past.

If this had happened a year ago, she would have. Would have lit her own home ablaze and made a run through her woods in the panic as her past turned to ashes behind her.

But there is a spirit in there, now. Alive and sleeping and  _safe_.

She will not save her own life by throwing another away as a sacrifice.

 

She swallows, staring at the captains outstretched palm.

“At least let me put on a proper robe,” Selene requests. “My sleeping garment is hardly proper for the city.”

Din'Durgen sighs. “You have until the count of fifteen, once the door closes.”

“Thank you,” Selene whispers, shutting the door.

 

She makes a dash for her bed, where Ethvhenas is sleeping. Pulls her work clothes on over her head as her robe falls to the floor and whispers to the lump beneath the blankets. “I cannot keep you safe any longer,” She whispers to them. “When the sun rises, return to the dreaming. Take whatever you would like. I will not be able to return here again.” She pauses, hesitating. Places a soft kiss to the top of the lump where the spirit is beginning to drowsily stir. “Stay safe, Ethvhenas.”

 

The door swings open again, revealing the captain standing on the other side expectantly.

“I’m ready,” Selene says as she turns to them. “Lead the way.”

 

–

 

The journey to Bellana'reval is long and arduous. The sun is up by the time they reach the nearest eluvian, and Selene silently hopes that Ethvhenas is already gone from her home. 

She wonders where they will have gone. 

Will they be safe? She never managed to find out how they had become so injured in the first place. What if they are attacked again? Perhaps she should have been less domestic with them. Should have taught them to fight, to defend themselves, rather than how to pick herbs and mix potions and assist in minor surgeries.

It is too late now, in any case.

 

At least their year together was pleasant. They seemed to think so as well, even with their troubles. They had learned to help her cook meals and care for the garden, and the amount of time they had woken in the night contorting and shifting and molting  _is_  significantly less than it had been when she first found them. They had greatly enjoyed the winter, rolling in the snow each afternoon until they were soaked through and had to be warmed again in the bath. Curious with the changing color of the forest before that, and greatly interested in watching her garden grow when the land warmed back up and the snow melted away.

 

If you can miss things in death, she thinks she will miss Ethvhenas most of all.

 

The sun is high in the sky as she is escorted out of the crossroads and towards one of Sylaise’s temples. The city hasn’t changed much, she notes. Things are a different color, and more statues have been erected, but the people still whisper and stare. Still let their auras color their clothes, like accessories made up of thoughts. All just as identical as the trends of the day, shock and distaste and morbid curiosity radiating through the streets as Selene travels through them.

She is surprised to see Sylaise herself waiting when she arrives inside the temple.

 

“My Lady,” Selene mutters with only a nod of her head. It’s not as though she could be in  _more_  trouble for not bowing, so why bother with it?

“Selene,” She greets with a cold smile. “It has been quite some time, has it not?”

“Over three centuries,” Selene allows.

“Much longer than most of my subjects survive on the list. You must have some rather…” Sylaise spares a glance towards Captain Din'Durgen “Influential friends.”

“Is it not possible that I am simply more useful alive than dead?” Selene attempts.

“It  _was_ , certainly. But with a proper healing area being built, there’s simply no need anymore. There’s no reason for you to worry. You’ll still be helping the people and the empire, just as you requested.”

 

Selene bites her tongue to keep from refuting her Lady in a way that would cause her harm before her death. Nothing to be gained from riling her up. Not now.

 

The two of them, along with a pair of guards Selene does not recognize, enter into the sacrificial chambers. It is smaller than she imagined; just an ornate slab and holes for blood to drain into. There is a small collection of chairs set up around the room. Ordinarily set up for family members who wish to see their relatives gruesome end, and nobles who have nothing better to do with their time. Selene expects the audience to be made up entirely of the latter- and is shocked to see a single familiar face in the crowd; her uncle.

She hadn’t expected her parents to show up of course. They’ve been spending the last few centuries purging her from the family records and putting as much distance between their standing and their daughters exile as they could manage.   
Seeing her mothers brother here pulls a more emotional response from her than she expected. She takes a glance around, half expecting and half hoping to see her cousin Alaris one last time. But there are no other faces she recognizes. Only her uncle, watching with pity.

Still. It is more solidarity than she expected.

 

One of the guards hands Selene a small glowing vial.

“What is this?” She asks, holding it up to the light.

“It is for the pain,” they explain vaguely.

 

Selene frowns. That is  _incredibly_  ominous, even by the standards of a sacrificial temple guard. But she is instructed to drink it all the same, and it is too late to start fighting back.

 _'For the pain’_.

Well.

Bottoms up, she supposes.

 

Selene drinks the contents of the vial, making a disgusted face at the taste as she hands the emptied glass back to the guard. She takes a step forward and nearly loses her balance as the world before her starts to spin.

Oh.

It is  _that_  sort of potion.

Selene feels her muscles begin to go lax as the second guard lifts her, placing her carefully down on top of the slab. Then the Lady begins to speak, and it is… _soothing_ , somehow. It shouldn’t be, she’s pretty sure. She doesn’t remember much of Sylaise but 'soothing’ is not a word she would associate with the woman by any means. 

Must be the effect of the potion, she realizes. 

Colors are beginning to bleed out of her vision, bright neon’s of the room dripping into pastels and shades of gray as words begin to slur together. There is a glint of light above her; something sharp and cold and pointed towards her. 

She should  _move_. She should roll away, run away.  _Scream._ She can feel her flames beneath her skin, reaches for them, tries to pull and pull and pull at them but they stretch like taffy candies.

Ethvhenas had always liked the taffy candies, she recalls There is still a handful of them hidden in a bowl in the top cabinet. She needed to hide it after they had gotten tangled in a long string of it. Should have told them about it before she left. Maybe they found them, all the same. Maybe Ethvhenas is safe in the dreaming somewhere, chewing on taffy and rolling in snow.

That would be very nice, she thinks, as the light strikes down towards her chest.

 

But it does not strike her.

 

There is a loud outpouring of magical energies somewhere to the right of her. Someone is speaking. Someone who has given Sylaise reason enough to pause, stunned, from her place beside the altar. The colors of the room are still stirring, still blurring, and none of the sounds coming from the room make any sort of sense as they reach her mind. There is a soft feeling on her hand, like feathers and a sound like cawing, like that first night she found them, and even in her haze she can feel her lips quirk up and murmur a soft 'Ethvhenas’.

 

The cold of the slab is no longer pressing against her back. The blade of light has vanished, and someone dressed in very fine fineries is staring at Selene in what reads like shock and anger and confusion.

Selene does not think she could explain what is happening right now very well though, so she can’t help them. She tries to say 'sorry’ but her mouth is heavy, and her eyelids are too. Also the ground seems to be moving, somehow. She has just enough strength to tilt her head up with her neck, eyes rolling up to strain and see what is happening.

 

All she sees is black and stars and an unfamiliar mask.

And then she sees nothing at all.

 

–

 

Selene is not sure how many days later she wakes up.

She knows that she has a  _massive_  headache though.

 

She groans, hand moving reflexively to her stomach to move Ethvhenas so that she can get some water without knocking them to the floor, and has a moment of panic when she realizes they are not there.

The last day comes flooding back to her; the captain, the temple, the potion.

Her masked rescuer.

 

She sits up, glancing around at her surroundings. Tall ceilings with dark marble pillars; a window taller than her home and several doors that lead who-knows-where. She is in a bed covered in blankets too luxurious for her rank to afford her, and more pillows than she thinks she has ever seen in one place outside of the pleasure district.

 

And there is a bird sitting by the window. Large and dark and magical as it flits to sit in front of her on the bed. There is something familiar about it, but she can’t quite seem to put her finger on it, head still throbbing.

 

“How are you feeling?” They ask in a very clear manner.

“My head hurts,” She admits. “I don’t think that potion was designed with a 'morning after’ in mind.”

“It was not,” The bird agrees, head tilting slightly. “I will retrieve some medicine to aid you.”

 

“Thank you,” Selene says. “Also, not to seem ungrateful but…where-where  _am_  I? I thought-Lady Sylaise had decided I was going to be sacrificed.”

“We did not agree with that decision,” The bird says plainly.

Selene nods, slowly, giving a small wince at the pain in her head at the movement.

 

The door opens then, carefully. There is a tray covered in food and drink, with a small vial beside them. And it is being carried by a tall elf in a cloak and mask.

 

Selene blinks as they place the tray down before her, explaining that this medicine works best with food. The tray is filled with pastries and fruits that Selene happily eats her fill of, as the masked elf stares at her in wonder.

She swallows the last bite of a sweet cheese filled piece, looking curiously back at the masked elf.

“Did you save me?” she asks.

 

“In a way, yes.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome. Is the food to your taste? I tried to recall, but the foods we have available here are not quite the same as you are used to.”

 

“The food is wonderful,” Selene assures them. “Have we…met? You talk like you know me. And I’m still not sure why you saved me. Or where I am. Or why I’m not dead. I have a lot of questions, actually, if you have the time.”

“I do not have as much as I would like,” They say “But I will answer what I can.”

“Ok,” Selene nods. “Who are you?”

 

The elf hesitates.

“Is there another question you would rather ask?” they attempt.

“Well, your refusal to answer tells me that it’s probably the most important question so let’s start there, shall we?”

 

The elf shifts awkwardly on the bed.

“My name is Dirthamen,” They say. “Although you have never called me such.”

 

Selene blinks.

 

Blinks again.

 

Tilts her head just slightly because  _surely_  she heard that wrong.

 

“I’m sorry,” She says “I think I still might be mildly hallucinating from the potion. Could you-who did you say you are?”

“Dirthamen.” They repeat.

 

Right.

Right, ok.

 

“Like,  _Lord_  Dirthamen?”

“That is correct.”

 

Selene bites down on her bottom lip, nodding again now that her headache is easing with the medicine.

“Alright. Ok. Uh, weren’t you-weren’t you like, missing? Or dead? Pretty sure there was a whole…”She gestures vaguely in the space in front of her “ _thing_  about it. Lady Mythals been sending search parties everywhere and Lord Falon'din razed a pretty large portion of his territories and you’re just…you’re just  _here_?”

 

“It…was more complicated than that,” he evades. “But I was not dead. I came close. You helped me to stay alive.”

Selenes eyebrows shoot up, her hands moving in front of her defensively “No no, see, I try really hard to stay out of politics. That’s-that’s a good way to end up dead or sacrificed or 'missing’ and I’m  _really_ -no. No, I’m sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“I do not.”

“You really do,” She argues before quickly adding “My lord.”

“Please do not call me that,” he sighs.

“I’m not sure what else I would call you.”

“I quite liked Ethvhenas.”

 

Selene nearly chokes on her own breath. “Ex _cuse_  me?”

Two blue eyes blink behind the mask. “Do you not recognize me?”

 

Selene shakes her head. “Are you-do you-do you really expect me to believe that you are Ethvhenas? How do you even know about Ethvhenas?! Were you spying on me?”

“I would not call it spying,” He argues. “You invited me into your home.”

 

“I didn’t-” She throws her hands up into the air. “I did no such thing! I don’t believe you. This is ridiculous. Some game of Sylaise’s, that old grudge of hers and-and-and…And I don’t believe you!”

  
“I do not know how to convince you I am telling the truth other than telling you the truth,” He admits, standing and walking towards a large wardrobe standing in the corner. Selene watches, hesitant and cautious as he carefully lifts out a familiar blanket. Slightly stunned as he places it over her shoulders, Selene stays perfectly still.

“This-…this is my blanket.”

 

“Yes,” Dirthamen says. “I have more effective blankets with similar enchantments here if you would like. You may help yourself to everything in the castle.”

He pauses.

“Most everything.” he amends.

 

“I..this doesn’t make any sense.”

“You helped me when I needed it most,” Dirthamen explains. “I am returning the favor. You are welcome to stay as long as you would like.”

 

Selene buries her face in her hands as realizations of the past year of her life starts to wash over her. “I read you  _childrens_  stories,” She groans. “I bathed you, I-I scratched your chin and  _put a bell on you_!”

“I had no complaints over our relationship,” he says calmly. “Although the bell would not be appropriate now that I will have to return to my responsibilities.”

 

Selene lets out another loud groan, her memories suddenly tinted with a new, much more terrifying perspective.

 

Dirthamen frowns, reaching a hand out before pulling it back. “I would like to stay and discuss this further, but unfortunately I have other matters I must tend to.”

“Sure,” Selene bemoans “Territories to oversee, people to look after, bloody  _secrets to keep_ …”

“Eventually, yes,” he says. “But for now I must go attempt to calm my families concerns with my sudden reappearance.”

 

Selene nods, in numb acceptance of her current situation. “Sure. Of course. Go have a family meeting with the bloody  _evanuris.”_

 _  
_ “I appreciate your understanding,” he says as he moves towards the door. He hesitates, fist wrapped around the handle .”Please do not leave this room while I am gone,” He requests. “I do not know how certain members of my family will react to your existence.”

 

“React to  _my_  existence!” Selene repeats with a bitter laugh. “Sure. Sure, no problem. I will stay right here, in my blanket, and dream about when this was all less complicated.”

“If that is what you would like,” He nods. “Fear and Deceit will get you anything you may require in the meantime.”

 

The door closes with a soft thud as he exits the room. Selene is left alone, in what she assumes must be Lord Dirthamens bed, with her own blanket wrapped over her shoulders.

 

Ethvhenas is Lord Dirthamen.

_Ethvhenas_  is  _Lord Dirthamen_.

 

It just doesn’t make sense. She found him in the woods, injured and bleeding out and took him home but he was-he was just a spirit! Just a spirit who needed help not a-not a  _god-like ruler_!

 

Selene groans and falls back into the pile of pillows.

 

Lord Dirthamen has been sleeping in her bed for the past year and she didn’t even know it. He has been cooking, and gardening, and cleaning her house.

The whole situation would be hilariously absurd, she thinks, if only it weren’t happening to  _her_.


	5. Chapter 5

It takes Selene nearly three hours to explore the available areas of Lord Dirthamens room.

The first half hour or so she had spent beneath the blankets, trying to convince herself she had slipped into a particularly strong part of the dreaming. That this was all an illusion and if she could manage to wake herself up, she would tell Ethvhenas all about what some ridiculous, troublesome spirit had tried to convince her of, and then get on with her life.

Deceit had put a rather firm damper on that particular theory.

 

Fear comes later. Summoned, she supposes, by the tremble in her limbs as she stumbled upon one of Dirthamens many closets, only to come face to face with potions and magics far beyond anything she had been allowed access to, even before her exile. Old secrets, whispering through loosened lids and splintering woods too long neglected in their keepers absence. Tempting in their promises, their truths, their price.

But Fear closes the door before they can reach her. Flaps their wings with a burst of magic, a high pitched hiss through the thick wood the only indication of the changes that must have occurred on the other side.

“This was not properly looked after while we were gone,” They explain as though discussing something as common as the weather. “I will ensure no other breaches have occurred.”

And with that, they fly off towards the dreaming, leaving her alone and clutching her blanket tighter around her shoulders.

 

“Right,” She mumbles to herself “Avoid the secret gods closet of magical knick knacks. Probably should have been an obvious one.”

She finds three more closets. 

 

One is locked. The next is packed with clothing and wigs and accessories for all occasions, and the last is full of books.

Just…stacked in every possible way to fit as many books and scrolls and papers as someone could manage within the space without damaging them.   
So  _many_  books.

So many more books than she had managed to fit in her one meager trunk when she left home.

The ends of her fingers itch as she reads the spines, glancing over the color cords of the scrolls to determine each ones subject matter.

 _I’ll come back for you_ , she vows silently as she swings the door shut.

 

The bathroom is huge. She’s sorely tempted to take a long, warm bath when she sees it, but stops herself. There’s no telling when Lord Dirthamen will return from his meeting, and for all she knows right now she could try to turn the valve and end up with a basin of blood instead of water.

Nope.

Not chancing that.

 

Much of the remaining space is just that.

Space.

Empty and open, with stones that glisten in the light and a ceiling that reflects weather patterns across the empire. Illusions of clouds and stars gleam overhead, casting long shadows throughout the room as she strides across it. There is a large window on the opposite wall, stretching all the way up to the ceiling, and Selene stares at the mountain range in the distance.

She is not sure how long it has been since she has seen mountains, but her breath catches in her throat at the realization of just how far from her home she really is.

 

The weight of her situation comes crashing down on her again as she drops to her knees on the floor.

 

She shudders again, arms clutching her blanket tightly around her shoulders. The last thing she has to remember her home by, she supposes. She can’t go back.

… _Could_ she go back?

No. Sylaise wants her dead and there’s no reason for her to pretend otherwise anymore. If she steps foot back in her ladies territory, she  _will_  be executed, and she is not good enough to be rescued a second time.

 

Will her vallaslin change? She supposes it will. What will her duties be? Caretaker for Lord Dirthamen? Surely he has  _actual_  people for that here. People that won’t read him childrens stories or scratch that spot where his ears go, or have to go chasing him through crawl spaces when he gets distracted by something.

Selene wonders for a moment if they have taffy in his territories.

 

She makes her way slowly back to the front area where the actual bed resides, feeling more drained than she should from exploring a single bedroom, even one as large as his. She pulls back the top cover, ready to crawl back in when the door swings open and Lord Dirthamen enters his chamber again.

 

Selene is about to greet him, when she notices the tendril peeking out of the bottom of his cloak. Long and dark and shining, more reminiscent of how he looked when she first found him in the forest than any elf. He closes the door behind himself, and she watches as his whole person seems to slump down.

…Perhaps he  _needs_  someone to care for him.

The way she has been.

 

“How did it go?” She asks as she approaches him. Carefully, she pulls down his hood and he responds by slumping against her. Four arm-like limbs wrap around her torso as his mask settles in the crook of her neck.

 

“They are understandably upset,” He says. “My mother is disappointed I hid for so long. My father says it was proof of my laziness, and my brother feels as though it was a slight against him and wishes for your head in recompense.”

“Well, he sounds charming.” Selene teases, carefully lifting her friend into her arms and moving to the edge of his bed.

 

“He and my sister both wish you dead.” He continues. “Sylaise claims I have robbed her and forced back her projects by taking you from the altar. She demands reparations, but I am unsure who would suit her now.”

“You can’t mean you’re planning to trade someone else to take my place as sacrifice,” Selene frowns. Dirthamens head tilts to lean against her shoulder as he lets out a heavy breath.

“It would be the fairest option.”

“It’s not very fair for the person who gets sacrificed.” Selene argues.

Dirthamen hesitates. “No,” he relents. “I suppose it is not. But it allows you to remain safe.”

 

Selene lets out a breath of her own. “Could I maybe…do some chores or something for Sylaise instead? Play the part of the groveling subject for a few days to help her save face without killing anyone?”

“The chances that you would come across an ‘accident’ in her service are too high to risk that offer.”

 

Dirthamen shifts against her, moving until he has one leg on either side of her own and finally lifting his face to look at her. Selene is still contemplating her options, trying to think of a solution that doesn’t involve someone else dying in her place.

“If it means that much to you,” Dirthamen finally says. “I will attempt to negotiate another solution with Sylaise.”

 

Selene visibly relaxes, shuffling awkwardly and clearing her throat when she feels a piece of his body that is elven and was certainly not a known factor when he was still Ethvhenas press against her stomach.

“Thank you.” She manages, finally looking at him eye to eye. They are very blue, beneath the slits of the mask. A familiar color, deep and calming and precious to her after their time together.

It is almost disconcerting to only be able to see two of them.

 

“May I take off your mask?” She blurts.

He blinks.

Hesitates.

And nods.

 

Careful as she can, Selenes fingers curve against the edges of the mask, brushing against the edge of his skin as they lift it off to reveal the face beneath.

 _Oh,_ she breathes _. He’s beautiful._

 

He tenses, eyes darting to the side quickly, and his features change.

 

This time, it is Selene who blinks.

“Your face changes even as an elf?” She asks.

“It is why I wear the mask,” He explains. “People find it unsettling. I apologize for my face. I know it is unpleasant.”

 

“I like your face,” Selene asserts, hand moving to cover her mouth as she realizes what she just said. “I mean. That is, it’s not  _un_ pleasant in any way. You jaw line is very uh…well defined. This version of it, anyways. And your eye color is the same, which is nice, they’ve always been a lovely color. Not that-not that that  _matters_ , just that with everything changing so suddenly it’s comforting to have something….not change.”

 

Selene thinks she can see a faint dusting of red growing beneath the cool tones of his current skin.

She doubts her own face is faring much better right now. Although it might be interesting to see if she can actually fit her entire foot in her mouth, after rambling like that.

 

“I uh…” She clears her throat. “If I’m going to be staying here-I assume I’m going to be staying here, if I can’t go back to Sylaise-I…am I going to be a healer, still? You should know my training wasn’t _technically_  fully completed. Formally. I was sort of…well,-you know what happened- before I finished my full apprenticeship. Filled in the gaps through trades with spirits to manage, but I don’t know that I’m actually up to your standards.”

 

Dirthamen sighs, head nuzzling back into the crook of her neck with enough force that she falls flat back on the bed.

She is suddenly painfully aware that he is in an elven body rather than his spirit one, his chest against her breasts and her legs shifting to a more relaxed position, leaving one of his own between them. He doesn’t seem nearly as concerned, content just to cuddle like they have been for the last year.

Which is fine.

She can handle this.

 

“Just stay with me for now,” He mumbles into her neck, arms tightening slightly around her. “Too many changes…please, just stay with me.”

Selene swallows. One arm strokes gently up and down his back, the other hand scratching at the space behind his left ear like used to enjoy as he lets a warm feeling of contentment fill the room.

 

Ok.

She can… _probably_  handle this.


	6. Chapter 6

Selene is soft and warm and firm in places, and Dirthamen is not accustomed to being so large and so solid when he wraps himself around her. But the shape of her has not changed. And he  _is_  accustomed to that - to having his own form warm and waver and be always in flux, while Selene is Known. Someone he has memorized the outline of, in at least one sense.

He hums. His skin vibrates, and ripples, and brightens where Selene’s fingers brush it.

She stills for a moment. Dirthamen is adrift. His memories are harder to reach, in the place between sleeping and waking, and closer to the other Aspects right now. Though, in truth, he is too muddled to really even wholly recollect that much. All he knows for certain is that he feels stretched-thin and tired, but Selene is there, and so it will be alright.

She shifts around, and in a move born of familiarity, Dirthamen loosens his hold so that she can get up to relieve herself. But this time she only sits up, and looks down at him. Which is not so uncommon either. The blankets are warm but they are not the  _warm blanket,_  which seems to have moved to the bottom of the bed, so Dirthamen rolls towards it. His face tilted upwards, his eyes too heavy to open again.

Selene makes a soft sound. Not quite a laugh. And then he feels her fingertip press against his nose. The light from the touch gleams behind his eyelids.

“…Boop,” Selene murmurs, very quietly. Sometimes she will press a finger right between all of his eyes, and say that. It is usually his cue to wake up.

With effort, Dirthamen blinks, and gets at least two of his eyelids open. Selene is looking down at him. She looks like the sunrise, with daylight in her hair and reflected light shining from her skin. But the familiar patterning of her small roof is not behind her head. Instead it is the open light, from a high window.

Dirthamen begins to remember.

They are not in the safe place anymore. Sylaise was going to kill Selene, and so he had to intervene. He had been very frightened, and it had… hurt. Pushing himself back together and breaking apart again all at once like that. He had made a mess of bloodstrewn feathers on the floor, but there had been no time to clean it, and it is doubtful that Selene will be able to go back. 

He will have to deal with his family. They are upset. 

Selene has explained to him the concept of mornings where one wishes they could simply stay in bed and do nothing else all day. Dirthamen feels this very keenly right now. He is tired and aching, and the prospect of dealing with his family is very daunting. They are all very loud and demanding and shrewd, and he has expressed weakness. And Mother is mad at him, she dislikes that he investigated the matter of Grandmother. 

Dirthamen is uncertain of what, precisely, he found. That is unnerving, too. There are many things he has never known nor understood, but he has never lost a secret before.

He needs to get up. He must see to things, or they will, for certain, only get worse. Selene’s presence right now is a benefit, but she is in a great deal of danger. And Dirthamen does not wish to repay her kindness with death. It may be inevitable, but he will not  _permit_  it to happen. If it does, it will be despite his best efforts - despite all he might trade for it.

For a moment, though, he only reaches towards her, and settles his own hands against her. Sliding them up under her sleep shirt until he can feel warm skin. Selene goes still. She does not sigh, and move to hold him. Nor does she bat his touch away, and tell him she needs to get up. She freezes, and the air colours with uncertainty. A slight heat that is not like the warmth of her skin, but rather, is spiced with odd stimulation. But also, fear.

Dirthamen withdraws his touch, and finally manages to sit up.

“I am sorry,” he says. 

Selene’s brow furrows, and her hips shift. She folds her arms around herself.

“It’s fine,” she tells him. “It’s just… sort of different, cuddling you when you’re an elf.”

Dirthamen blinks.

“I was always an elf,” he admits. “It was just harder to tell before. But, if you would prefer me to not…”

“No,” she says, swiftly. Some of the tension eases out of him, along with the not of fear. Dirthamen sits quietly with Selene for a moment more, and collects himself. He is still wearing his robe. Good. He should probably change for the next meeting, however. Fear and Deceit wing in through the walls, as the time for that approaches. Deceit takes over cuddling Selene, as Dirthamen stands and changes. He lets his robe fall to the floor, and endeavours to solidify his form, as he retrieves his mask. His skin settles into a solid light brown, and he shakes the stars from his hair, and procures the right number of limbs. The mask helps; it holds more of himself from before he broke, and helps him recollect how he should conduct himself in it. 

Selene is staring at the bedspread, when he finishes changing. Her cheeks are very pink, and the air around her is quiet in a way which suggests she is being reserved. 

This is a perilous situation for her. Dirthamen wishes he could offer better reassurance, but it may be unwise to diminish the level of danger involved.

“Please stay here until I get back,” he requests. “Fear will remain with you, and acquire anything you need.”

“Should I…  _do_  something…?” Selene suggests, uncertainly.

Selene likes to do things.

“No,” Dirthamen must tell her, however. “For now it is best if you only stay here. Fear will bring… safe… books?”

The suggestion is uncertain as well, but after a moment, Selene agrees to it. She likes books. This is good. Dirthamen owns many which should probably not be touched, but Fear can select some which are not dangerous. Not beyond the usual perils of any pursuit of knowledge, at least. 

Deceit must come with him, today. The Aspect has developed better skill at lying and manipulating than Dirthamen had possessed even before his breaking point. It will be needed, to help deal with his family.

He makes his way from the room swiftly, then, to defeat the temptation to simply linger. The longing to return settles into his chest almost as soon as he has closed the door behind him. It is almost comforting in its own way. He carries it with him, aching, but also invigorated by the intensity of it. It makes him sharper. His steps move more quickly, as if moving further from the door with enough haste might start him more immediately upon the journey back to it. HIs heels click against the tiled floor, and a dark cape ripples out behind him, as Deceit too grows larger and more curved of beak.

Falon’Din is waiting for them at the end of the hall.

Dirthamen’s steps falter, for a moment.

His brother is not permitted here. Likely, he has killed a sentry to circumvent that restriction; or else, more optimistically, whoever was on duty was wise enough to simply vacate their post. But Dirthamen thinks he would have received warning, in that case.

Falon’Din is dressed in red and silver today. His hair is held atop his head, and his eyes are so pale as to look like shards of ice.

“Show her to me,” he demands.

Dirthamen tilts his head.

His brother will not let this go. It will be a problem. But… it may be possible to  _divert_  his interest. Deceit watches, and Dirthamen watches, as his brother pushes up from his position against the wall, and his expression goes impatient.

“Do you know what people are saying over this?” Falon’Din asks, stalking towards him. “My own twin soul, and in your hour of need, you went to some  _whore_  of Sylaise’s rather than coming to  _me._  You went to  _her.”_

“I was attempting to reach Sylaise,” Dirthamen lies.

It brings his brother up short.

“What?” Falon’Din snaps.

Dirthamen straightens his shoulders, and does not turn when his brother begins to circle him. He anticipates pain, and the need for countermeasures.

“I was attempting to reach Sylaise. In my disorientation, I still recollected that she has always been skilled at providing protection to those in need. Mother was too far away, and you are… you are my brother. I know you too well. If I had gone to you then, I would not be here now.”

“You would be with  _me,”_  Falon’Din snaps, and closes a hand over his throat.

Dirthamen slips through his fingers, however. Flesh reshaping, magic burning in reproach, as he moves like liquid around his brother, and closes his own hand over the back of his neck in turn. He must hold his breath as he does it. And it makes his bone ache, in a way it ordinarily would not. His recovery is far from complete.

Falon’Din snarls, and whirls.

Dirthamen releases him. His brother draws the weapon at his hip. The blade of his sword is blood red, and makes the air feel heavy.

“You have grown weak,” Dirthamen asserts. “Your people die like flies, the strength they give you is only temporary. You are failing in your purpose. Sylaise is achieving greatness far beyond your own. Her base of followers is more vast, and more healthy, her reserves of strength far greater. Her dragon form dwarfs your own. She sits in the highest of towers in the most prestigious of cities, while you lurk in shadows. Why would anyone ever turn to you, when they could turn to her?”

Mother is going to be furious with him.

He is being a terrible brother.

Falon’Din lets out a roar of rage and slashes his blade towards his mask. The metal strikes the porcelain, and the blooded sword breaks. Dirthamn must fight to keep from reeling as his nose cracks and his face bruises. He tries to shift his features, but is a fraction of a moment too late to accomplish much with it, beyond an amplification of the pain.

Blood pours from his nose and out through the bottom of his mask.

Falon’Din discards the hilt of his broken sword. His eyes are brittle white. His form is rippling, and Dirthamen thinks he would be a dragon, now, if the hall was not so narrow that such a shift would injure him more than anything else.

“How  _dare_  you?!” he hisses. “Sylaise is nothing! She is a wretched, simpering bitch-”

“She is stronger than you are,” Dirthamen interrupts.

When his brother moves to strike him, he catches his wrist this time. Falon’Din shakes, incandescent with anger. It is very difficult to hold him back. Particularly without hurting him. And so, as he moves to strike again, Dirthamen abandons the effort to avoid that, and instead lets his body splinter into a dozen odd limbs that counter his brother’s momentum, and then fling him back into the wall at the end of the hallway.

Falon”Din strikes the stone with a resounding  _crack._

“You are very strong,” Dirthamen concedes, as Falon’Din stares at him in honest shock for a moment. “And you are still my brother. I will love you forever. But do not interfere in my scheming with Sylaise.”

His brother narrows his eyes.

“Scheming?” he replies.

Dirthamen tilts his head. Wondering if the effect has been altered by the blood streaming down his collar.

“Did you think any of this could ever actually have a single thing to do with a peasant healer?” he asks. 

The point lands, which is good. Falon’Din had been most consternated and outraged at the concept that Dirthamen may have developed an attachment to an utter stranger, somehow, after all this time. It is much easier for him to believe in lies and schemes.

“What are you doing?  _Tell me,”_  he demands.

Dirthamen shrugs dismissively.

“It is better that I work with Sylaise,” he insists.

The notion does not go over well. But it is also one that may lead to Dirthamen’s two greatest opponents in this dilemma fighting with one another, rather than endeavouring to kill Selene.

He focuses on that, as Falon’Din charges at him again.

Deceit goes to ensure that the hallways are clear, and after only a few more injuries, a broken limb, and a moment where Dirthamen had thought his brother might transform and simply break the walls, with no care for his own injury, Falon’Din finally leaves. Breaking, burning, and slashing anything he might lay hands upon along the way.

By then, the council is already in session. Dirthamen cannot attend it covered in blood, however. He sends Deceit ahead, to go in his stead, and makes his way back to his chambers. Very glad for the soundproofing, for the whispering walls that keep secrets and hold in sound.

Selene gapes at him as he comes back inside.

“What happened?!” she demands, and hurries over.

Dirthamen slumps back against the door, with a tired sigh. Deceit is at the council meeting, and Mythal knows it is not his main aspect. Elgar’nan is shouting. Sylaise has a list of demands and is a better negotiator than any part of him. He must focus.

He cannot quite manage to answer. But he is grateful, when Selene pulls away his mask, and casts the first healing spell.


	7. Chapter 7

Selene stops dead in her tracks, hands still slightly wet from the wash.

Lady Mythal is standing in the middle of Dirthamens bedroom, staring directly at her.

Fear is nowhere to be found.

 

“Are you the little healer that has been causing so much strife within my family?” She asks, golden eyes glittering. “I expected someone more grand to have stolen my sons eye. I suppose he has never been capable of understanding the finer things.”

 

Selene swallows, shoulders straightening. “Where is Fear?” She asks.

“Far enough to allow us a conversation, not so far that they are in any sort of danger.” Mythal says, turning back towards the door.

 

Selene stays where she is. She is not supposed to leave. It’s the  _one_ thing Dirthamen has asked of her. To keep her safe from his family, ostensibly.

 

“Come along child,” Mythal chides without turning. “If I were going to kill you, I could do it in this room as simply as I could in the sitting room. I have gone to the trouble of having tea prepared for us. I assure you, it is far less pleasant once it’s gone cold.”

 

Her feet move without her permission. One after the other, until she is past the boundaries of Dirthamens personal wards. Mythals hair flows out behind her, crown shining atop her head; sharp and pointed and gleaming in the light of the day.

It reminds her of a hair piece her father once wore for an event. His had been woven with ivy enchanted to bloom at the height of the evening, as had been the fashion at the time. But the thorns had pricked her fingers even then; a danger hidden beneath the beauty and magic of the evening.

This is not so different, she thinks.

 

The sitting room is arranged by the time they arrive, Selene a few steps behind Mythal as the older woman gives instructions to her attendants to leave the tea and the room. There is a single small table arranged near the window, two chairs spaced just apart from each other. Flower petals are strewn around the room, filling it with a sweet scent that reminds Selene of her own garden back home.

She wonders, briefly, if that is where these were plucked from.

 

“Have a seat,” Mythal instructs as she takes her own and begins to pour herself a cup of tea.  Selene hesitates, but sits across from her, scooting the chair enough to add an additional foot of space between the two women. She keeps her hands firmly in her lap, waiting while Mythal manipulates her drink to her own tastes.

 

“So then,” Mythal begins once she is satisfied. “What is it you are looking to get from my son?”

 

Selene blinks.

“I…what? Nothing.”

“Oh? So you are some soft-hearted creature then, tangled in fates strings and left alone to dangle in your consequences.”

“He’s my  _friend_.”

“And how, precisely, did he earn that title? How did  _you_ , for that matter? A disgraced, young, gangly elf who was left alone in the woods to fend for herself, stumbling across one of the leaders and keeping him hidden for an entire year. I can only imagine the sorts of secrets he might have shared, to earn your loyalty.”

“I didn’t even know who he was,” Selene argues. “I thought he was just a spirit that needed help. He was injured, and I tried to heal him. That’s all.”

 

Mythal takes a small sip from her cup. “I see. He repaid your kindness with deception then. How quite like him.”

Selene chews briefly on her bottom lip. “Not-not purposely.”

“No?” Mythal continues. “I suppose he’s told you all about how he managed to end up in those woods then. How he came by his injuries?”

 

Selene stays silent, knuckles whitening in her lap. It’s a trick. She  _knows_  it’s a trick.

It doesn’t make the truth sting any less in her chest.

 

“Of course he did not,” Mythal sighs “It is against his nature to be forthcoming. Do you not wonder what else he may be keeping from you? I understand he made quite a flourish when he removed you from Sylaise. A grand re-entrance, pretending to be a protector of the smaller people. I’m sure you made for quite the damsel in distress.”

“You’re acting like we planned it.”

“I’m sure  _you_  didn’t,” Mythal smiles with her teeth. “But I know my son. He is using you. You will not want to be here when your usefulness has run out. He has little care for those who can not aid him in some way.”

“He must get that from his mother,” Selene retorts before she can think better of it.

 

Mythals eyes widen, the light from the window streaming across them just briefly before she lets out a loud laugh.

“You  _are_  a young thing, aren’t you?” She says in a manner that sounds like a snarl despite a rather gentle appearance. “You might want to keep a close hold of that tongue of yours, before it falls right out of your head. Medical mishaps  _are_  your specialty, after all.”

 

Selenes breath stops, heart hammering loudly in her chest as Mythal continues.

“Just how many of our people were affected by your mistake again? Five? Ten?”

“Twelve,” Selene whispers, eyes darting down to the floor briefly.

“Twelve,” Mythal nods. “Several of them nearly died you know.”

“I know.” she responds quietly.

“If you had been any older, you’d have been put to death just for that,” Mythal explains. “You may have had the benefit of youth on your side back then, but when we look at the complete picture of your life now…”

 

“I haven’t made any other mistakes,” Selene interrupts. “I’ve been very careful!”

 

“Your past hardly seems like a ‘mistake’ at this point. Several of our highest attendants were affected by that incident. Perhaps it was a sabotage. Just as you’ve sabotaged my son, now. You may have changed your name and lived in seclusion for a century, but your ineptness is still a threat to the empire.” Mythal takes another sip of her tea while Selene tries to take deep breaths. She is trying to get a rise out of her. Selene knows this, she  _knows_  this.

 

“I could teach you,” Mythal finally says. “If you will swear your loyalty to me, I could take you under my wing, and teach you to avoid such follies.”

“Dirthamen-”

“Will tire of you,” Mythal insists. “Whatever plan he has been using you for, it will be reaching its conclusion soon. He will tire of bickering with his siblings and see sense. You are a weakness for him, and once he has remembered himself he will discard such weaknesses. You are not the first 'friend’ he has felt a fondness for. Do not be so foolish as to share their fate.”

 

 

The heavy doorway swings open, a powerful burst of energy forcing its way into the room as Fear finally flits down and out of the dreaming to rest atop Selenes shoulder.

 

“Mother,” Dirthamen greets as he glides into the room. “We missed you at today’s meeting.”

“I am sure you managed without,” Mythal smiles at her son. “I just thought I would spend some time with your newest friend, since you seemed so taken with her.”

“Father is looking for you,” Dirthamen evades. “Andruil has returned from her hunt, and they had another argument. It would be unwise to let him continue wandering the grounds alone.”

Mythal finally rises from her chair, patting Dirthamens arm twice. “I will take care of Elgar'nan,” She assures him before turning to face Selene. “I hope you will consider my advice.”

 

A wave of unease washes briefly off of Dirthamen as Mythal finally strides out of the sitting room.

 

“What did you tell her?”

 

Selene blinks.

 _That’s_  what he’s worried about?

“I..she did most of the talking.”

  
Dirthamen nods.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” She murmurs. “She didn’t hurt me.”

 

“That is good,” Dirthamen sighs. He pulls an ornate mask and cloak out from beneath his own as Deceit appears wearing a matching set. “Put these on. My family is still nearby, and this will disguise you as a simple attendant until we can return to my rooms. You should not have left.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Selene snaps.

Dirthamen freezes, the air around him going slightly colder.

 

She sighs, dragging her hand down her face. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. Your mother didn’t give me an option to stay. My feet just…followed her.”

“An old blood spell,” Dirthamen acknowledges. “We should be lucky that is all she did with it. There is a purification ritual we can perform to rid you of any lingering effects, so that she may not use it again.” He pauses, thoughtful. “Not without going to considerable trouble, at least. Though she is unlikely to do so twice.”

“How did she manage to get my blood in the first place?” Selene asks as she slips the robe over her existing clothes.

“Assuming you are waking born, it seems likely she would have retrieved it from one of your parents. The direct blood tie would be enough to extract the necessary information for the spell.”

“I’m surprised my parents would’ve acknowledged me long enough to give her something like that,” Selene grumbles as she places the mask on.

Then again, if Mythal  _herself_  had asked, there is very little her parents would not give up to climb the social ladder. Perhaps she should be less shocked.

 

Selene is silent on the walk back to Dirthamens rooms, as is Deceit. They are stopped once by a sentry, who hands Dirthamen a small scroll of some kind, but otherwise the trip is a peaceful one.

 

Once his bedroom doors are closed and his wards have been reinforced, Selene removes the disguise. Deceit shifts back into a large raven, and pushes their head into the palm of her hand. She rubs her hands gently against their feathers, watching as Dirthamen does a full sweep of his room.

 

“Did my mother tell you anything of note?” Dirthamen inquires as he settles down beside Selene on the bed.

“Not really.” Selene lies.

Deceit caws up at her, beak nipping gently at the skin of her palm.

 

She lets out a sigh in resignation, booping the top of their head in retribution. “She said you were using me. That I should go with her, and she could teach me to be…”she gestures vaguely. “ 'better’.”

“Do you want to?” Dirthamen asks.

“No,” Selene asserts. “I… _would_  like to be less of a threat, but I don’t think that’s much of an option anymore. And I don’t think becoming more like your mother would be 'better’ in any sense.”

“You are not a threat,” Dirthamen says in an effort to be a reassuring.

Unfortunately, it just reminds Selene of Mythals warning that he is using her. That this is some elaborate game, and she is only one small, insignificant piece. That he plans to rid himself of her once her usefulness is up.

 

It is a ridiculous notion, she reminds herself as Dirthamen crawls into her lap. To think that Ethvhenas could have been some sort of…disguise. Some trick to earn sympathy points. As though he could have hurt  _himself_  before she found him.

Although…

“Dirthamen,” She asks as he places his mask down beside them, his head resting comfortably on her shoulder. “How did you end up in the woods in the first place?”

 

Deceit vanishes.

Dirthamen tenses.

Wings sprout out of his back, long and dark and feathered as he shudders.

“I do not know.” he tells her, mouth cold as it moves against the skin of her collar “I can not remember.”

 

Selenes eyes narrow slightly, her arms tightening around him.

It’s probably the truth, she tells herself. He probably wouldn’t lie to her. Not when he lets himself be this vulnerable.

 

_It is not in his nature to be forthcoming._

 

“Ok,” Selene breathes through the weight in her chest. “I believe you.”


End file.
